What Are Your Intentions?
by Spirit Lily0
Summary: When Sherlock returns from the dead, John moves back to Baker Street. He quickly discovers that while most things are the same, some things have certainly changed. John tries to figure out why, he discovers something he hadn't seen before. M/M, smut in later chapters, Johnlock
1. Chapter 1

John woke to the sound of a violin playing. It wasn't the tortured squealing he usually heard when Sherlock was in a bad mood, or worse, bored. He lay back and listened to the soothing music and let his mind wander back.

John had been ecstatic when he discovered that Mary was pregnant. He noticed she seemed a little reticent, but just put it down to "first time mother nerves". It had been somehow fitting that his best friend was the one who deduced the pregnancy and told them. He had rattled off symptoms of pregnancy that John realized he'd seen but not really thought about. He and Mary had been too busy planning the wedding and he hadn't given it much thought.

He was still angry and horrified that Mary had shot Sherlock, no matter how much Sherlock insisted that Mary intentionally missed, hadn't intended to kill him. He had finally managed to push that back far enough in his mind to realize that he still cared for Mary and wanted this baby with her.

Then one day when he was talking to Mary about the baby, the other shoe dropped. He realized that the baby Mary was carrying was actually David's. That revelation killed any lingering feelings he may have had for her. He left her then and there. She cried and begged him to stay, that she loved him, that it had been over between her and David ages ago. But John knew deep down that that couldn't possibly be true. Mary's baby was definitely David's. John figured it out quickly enough when she had commented on the number of weeks pregnant she was to a friend. John had heard it and realized that she had gotten pregnant during the week he had spent at Harry's trying to get her sober again after another inevitable rejection by Clara.

He had packed his bags and left. Sherlock offered him his old room back and he had moved in without another thought for Mary, or the baby.

That was nearly three months ago, and as he suspected things were never really over between David and Mary. They had gotten back together, and the other man was thrilled to discover that the baby was actually his and not John's. They had moved away shortly after that. John didn't bother to find out where.

Now he and Sherlock were back to their old life before the fall and before Mary. He and the detective were solving cases and chasing criminals just like they used to. He smiled thinking about how much he'd missed this. He realized then that the music had stopped. He got up and opened his door intending to go down and see what Sherlock was doing. He was on the second step when he heard the light clinking of glass and knew the detective was busy with an experiment. He paused and decided not to go down right away. He moved back into his room and shaved, showered, and dressed, then he went downstairs thinking about what to make for breakfast.

He entered the kitchen and Sherlock looked up briefly, greeting him, "Morning John. Have a good sleep?" It had become a new custom for Sherlock to always acknowledge John whenever he entered a room he was in, to always greet him in the mornings.

"Yes I needed the sleep after that last case", he said as he moved around the kitchen making breakfast for both of them.

"Mmmm", Sherlock hummed absently, as he focused on his experiment.

As John waited for the toast to pop and the water to boil for tea he thought about how the younger man always ate without complaint when John made them food. He wondered if the detective simply appreciated him more now. He probably wouldn't ever know. Sherlock never talked about emotions even now, although John could see that he did have feelings. He just kept them well hidden before, or maybe they were always there and the doctor just hadn't seen them.

The toast popped and he put them on plates for he and Sherlock, put it on the kitchen table along with butter knives and jam. As he made tea, Sherlock moved from his experiment and sat at the table. He smiled his thanks when John set his tea in front of him. They sat in companionable silence and ate their simple breakfast, each lost in his own thoughts.

The detective finished and moved back to his experiment and John gathered plates and cups and set them in the sink for washing later. He moved to the sitting room and opened his laptop, logged into his blog, and soon lost himself in recounting their latest case.

/

John stretched and turned to ask Sherlock if he wanted to go out for a walk and a coffee, but discovered the younger man was on the couch, laying down facing John, hands steepled under his chin, lost in his mind palace. John sighed, a little disappointed. He had wanted to get the detective out for a while, but John understood that he needed to arrange and file away all the points of the case.

So the older man busied himself with cleaning the flat, foregoing vacuuming the floor so he didn't disturb Sherlock. Then he moved on to washing and drying their clothes, and putting them away. That done, he checked on the detective, but he hadn't moved. He decided to wash all their bedding too. When that was done and their beds remade he moved to washing their breakfast dishes, thinking about what he should make for lunch.

Dishes done he looked in the fridge to see what there was for food. Not much he discovered. The shopping had been set aside while they had a case. He made a list and decided to go do the shopping. He thought about leaving a note for Sherlock, but decided he would be quick enough that the detective wouldn't even notice that he'd been gone.

With that thought in mind, he grabbed his wallet and keys, and got to the door when a baritone stopped him, "Going out, John?"

He stopped and turned, "Uh yeah, I was just going to get some groceries", he tilted his head, "I thought you were in your mind palace."

"I was. I'm done now", the younger man said as jumped to his feet, "I think I'll come with you."

"Uh sure."

Sherlock paused, and lifted his brows at John, "Problem?"

The older man shook himself, "No …. no not at all."

"Good", the detective smiled and opened the flat door.

They exited the building and Sherlock was hailing a taxi when John said, "Why don't we walk to Tesco's. We can catch a taxi back."

"Alright", the detective said, amiably.

They set off down Baker Street. It was a warm spring day, and there were lots of people out enjoying it. Sherlock resisted the urge to deduce everyone on the street. He suspected that John wouldn't like that. So instead he observed John of the corner of his eye and deduced him without his knowledge. He would, of course, keep his observations to himself, knowing John would be angry with him for deducing him.

/

John was pleasantly surprised to discover that Sherlock knew exactly where to find all the things on his list. The man amazed him every day. When they went to the tills, Sherlock took them through the automated register and did all the scanning, bagging, and paying himself. The doctor was surprised by this, but offered no remarks, just marvelled at another facet of his best friend he hadn't seen before.

The younger man helped carry the groceries, and when they emerged from the store, he hailed a taxi. They got in, and rode in silence, each with his own thoughts. When they arrived back at their flat, Sherlock paid the cabbie. John was taken by surprise again. It was rare for Sherlock to pay for their taxi. He usually left John to deal with it. He wondered why the detective was being so generous. It wasn't like him.

Tossing that thought aside for now, they grabbed their groceries, and exited the taxi. Sherlock opened the door and they stepped in. John started up the stairs while Sherlock closed the downstairs door. John struggled a bit on the stairs as he knew he would. He had gotten a head start so he could be most of the way up the stairs by the time the younger man caught up. Sure enough Sherlock bounded up the stairs passing John and entering their flat. John sighed thinking that some things never changed. But that thought stopped when the detective came back out and relieved the doctor of his grocery bags taking them into the flat as well. He got up the remainder of the stairs faster without being weighed down by the bags.

He entered the flat, moving to the kitchen to put the shopping away only to discover the younger man was already doing that. He was almost done in fact. So John moved to the couch and sat, resting his aching shoulder. It took so much effort to try to hang on to bags of shopping and get up the stairs too. He was always afraid he'd drop one and then trip on it and fall. He silently cursed his war-damaged shoulder. Just then a steaming cup of tea appeared in front of him, held by a long graceful hand. He took the cup and looked around to see Sherlock standing behind him, his face close from bending forward with the tea.

John was sure he could see all the individual flecks of colour in the younger man's eyes. Heterochromia his mind supplied. Sherlock straightened up and moved to the kitchen once again.

"Thank you", John acknowledged the detective making him a cuppa.

"Mmmm", came from the kitchen.

John knew he would already be lost in another experiment. He sighed, turned on the telly, and sat back to enjoy his tea and some mindless telly. He became engrossed in a documentary about bees, and set his emptied tea cup on the coffee table. Soon after, he dozed off. Sleeping happily and dreaming of dancing with bees.

/


	2. Chapter 2

Previously:

John knew he would already be lost in another experiment. He sighed, turned on the telly, and sat back to enjoy his tea and some mindless telly. He became engrossed in a documentary about bees, and set his emptied tea cup on the coffee table. Soon after, he dozed off. Sleeping happily and dreaming of dancing with bees.

/

The sun shining in his eyes was what woke John. He slowly drifted up from sleep, feeling warm and relaxed, and then opened his eyes. He turned his head a little to get the sun off his face. It was morning, so he'd slept all night on the couch. He shifted a little on the couch and felt how stiff his back and neck were, and groaned. He shouldn't have fallen asleep on the couch. Now he was going to be sore and stiff all day. He sat up and saw he had a blanket over him. Sherlock must have put it over him while he was asleep.

With that thought, he looked around. The detective wasn't anywhere to be seen. There was no noise either. The git probably left on a case without him. He swung his legs off the couch, wincing at the stiffness, and stood. He stretched, trying to relieve some of the muscle pain.

"I can help you with that, John", came a baritone behind him.

John jumped and turned quickly, grimacing as his stiff muscles screamed at the sudden movement.

"Jesus Sherlock, you need to learn how to knock", John said in annoyance.

"I can help relieve the muscle pain. You wouldn't be stiff and you won't be grouchy", Sherlock said ignoring John's comment.

"I'm not grouchy", John said scowling at him.

Sherlock merely raised one eyebrow at the doctor.

"Ok, maybe a little bit, but only because you let me sleep on the couch all night. You know it how much it hurts my back when that happens", John muttered grumpily.

"I tried to wake you, but I didn't want to shake you too hard lest you punch me."

"Yeah probably would've done that", John smirked, looking sheepish.

"Well you're awake now. So do you want me to help you with the sore back or not?"

John was uncertain whether he wanted Sherlock to do that or not. The doctor didn't know how much the younger man actually knew about massage, and he didn't want to say or do anything to tip the detective off as to his feelings for him.

"Uuummm…"

John didn't get the chance to finish as Sherlock walked quickly to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him round, whipped off his shirt, and pushed him face down on the couch.

"Sherlock…..", John protested.

His protestations were cut short as he looked over his shoulder and saw Sherlock produce a bottle of massage oil seemingly out of nowhere.

How does he do that? John thought, feeling a little bewildered.

Sherlock poured small dabs of oil on John's back and spread it out over the doctor's entire back with light, swift strokes. As the younger man's talented hands began to slowly work the protesting muscles, the older man realized that the oil was already warm. He groaned as Sherlock worked each sore spot out. He didn't notice the groans slowly turning into moans. He lay still as the detective worked carefully. When Sherlock was finally done, John sighed and relaxed for a moment. The detective's hands remained on the older man's back moving slowly, not massaging now, just touching.

John couldn't repress the shiver of pleasure that ran through him. He felt his skin prickle as the detective's hands continued to slide over his slick skin. He lay still, uncertain what was happening. Suddenly the younger man's hands stilled, John moaning in protest, and then Sherlock was standing up and striding to the window. John rolled over and sat up, about to ask the detective why he had stopped, when he heard the light knock and a "woohoo" signalling Mrs. Hudson's arrival at their door.

John turned his head as the door opened and Mrs. Hudson entered.

"Hello dear. Didn't you hear the doorbell?"

John was about to say that no he hadn't heard the doorbell, but Sherlock spoke first, "Two long rings. Lestrade with cold cases. Boring."

The younger man grabbed his violin and bow from their case as Lestrade walked through the door. Sherlock turned and said, "Just leave them there, Lestrade. I'll look at them later, and text you my conclusions", as he pointed at the coffee table with his bow.

Sherlock turned to the window once more. Lestrade looked at John and raised one eyebrow. The army doctor shrugged, and rolled his eyes. Then Lestrade sighed, exasperated, and plopped the files on the coffee table.

"I'll need those back eventually." Sherlock ignored the inspector as he raised violin and bow in preparation for playing.

"I'll bring them back in a couple days", John said.

He was annoyed with the detective for once again leaving him to do all the talking. The air was filled with violin music, just as Lestrade nodded to John, and turned and left.

John shot an annoyed glance at the younger man's back. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it back on, and left the sitting room, climbing the stairs to his own room.

He closed the door, and leaned back against it, tilting his head back to rest on the wood. He squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a long breath. He didn't think the detective had noticed his tenting trousers. The interruption of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had given him time to will it down. He was lucky that time. Sherlock would eventually notice the doctor's attraction to him if he wasn't more careful. It was foolish to fall asleep on the couch thereby giving Sherlock a reason to touch him like that. He wondered if the younger man was attracted to him, he decided he'd have to watch him closely, maybe do a little deducing of his own.

He stepped away from the door and grabbed clean clothes from his closet and dresser, and headed into his bathroom to shower and start the day. He briefly wondered why the detective hadn't been all over the case files the detective-inspector had brought for him. He hadn't had a case in a few days, and John knew the younger man was bored. He was also aware that Sherlock only played the violin when he needed to think, but there wasn't any cases to think about. So what was he thinking about. He decided not to worry about it right now, and closed the door.

/

When Sherlock heard the shower start in John's bathroom, he stopped playing, and setting violin and bow in the case, sat in his chair, steepled his hands under his chin, and got lost in his mind palace. He had some things to work out. He wasn't sure what to make of these new observations. He didn't hear the shower stop, or hear the doctor as he descended the stairs to the sitting room.

John stopped in the doorway, seeing the detective in his thinking pose. Well at least he wouldn't be shooting the bloody walls while he was at work. Thankfully he had a short shift today. He'd just let Mrs. Hudson know where he was in case Sherlock finished in his mind palace before he got home. With that thought, he grabbed his coat, wallet, and keys, and left for work.

/

About an hour later, Sherlock emerged from his mind palace to a quiet flat. He looked at the clock and knew that John would be at work for another three hours at least. Excellent, that would give him time to do some research. He grabbed John's laptop from the side table, opened it, and proceeded to do just that.

/

John was tired. It had been a hectic shift at work. There had been lots of patients today with flus and colds. One of the kids had sneezed in his face. He hoped he wouldn't catch anything. He'd just shower and put on clean clothes to make sure.

He entered the flat, and stopped short in surprise. Sherlock was in the kitchen cooking. John didn't even know that the younger man knew how. He walked to the door and looked in. There was the detective leaning over a pot on the stove. He turned when John entered the kitchen.

"That smells delicious. What is it?"

Sherlock smiled, pleased, "I've made linguine carbonara, Caesar salad, and garlic toast."

The detective turned looking closer at the doctor, "You should shower, and put on clean clothes first. You have time, and you don't want to catch cold or flu."

John opened and closed his mouth a couple times, and then just nodded and hurried to his room to do just that.

/

John showered and dressed quickly, admitting to himself that the smell of dinner made him realize how hungry he was. He jogged down the stairs again to see that the detective had cleaned, and set the table and was just setting the food on it. He looked up and smiled as John entered the kitchen, "Aw, excellent timing, John. I've just finished putting everything on the table."

John noticed that the table had been scrubbed well, and all the equipment had been taken off the surface. He looked around not seeing it anywhere in the kitchen.

"Come, sit, eat", Sherlock said, gesturing to the table.

The doctor moved to the table, and sat, noticing a bottle of wine and glasses on the table as well.

"What's the occasion", John asked.

"Can't I cook for my best friend", Sherlock asked, with brow raised.

"Oh, of course" he said, "I just thought with the wine and all that maybe there was a special reason."

"Just felt like doing something nice for my friend who worked all day, and is tired", Sherlock said.

John looked at the detective, having seen a bit of hesitation there, but decided to leave it, and just accept the younger man's explanation.

Sherlock smiled and sat, and they each took portions from the plates of delicious food, and ate quietly. Sherlock kept filling John's wine glass, never letting it get more than half empty. He talked about some of the cold cases that Lestrade had brought over, and they passed the meal in deep discussion. When they were done, the detective insisted on clearing the table himself, ignoring the doctor's offers to help. Then he went to the fridge, and opening it, pulled out what John recognized as a black forest cake. He hadn't had one of those in a long time. Some of the ingredients were too expensive for him to buy. The younger man cut two generous pieces of cake, plated them, and brought them to the table.

John was right, it was black forest cake, and it was absolutely divine. He closed his eyes and savoured each bite of the rich confection.

"Mmmm did you make this, Sherlock?", John asked, opening his eyes and looking at the younger man.

The detective smiled, "No I bought the ingredients and talked Mrs. Hudson into making it for me, but I did make the dinner myself."

John raised an eyebrow at that, "I didn't know you could cook."

"It's simple really. No different than doing an experiment. The right amount of each ingredient, the right temperature, the right dish…." Sherlock waved a languid hand as he talked.

The doctor was distracted watching the elegant hand waving around, then running through ebony curls, then disappearing into a pocket. He swallowed, thinking about what those long fingers could do to him.

"John….JOHN…. JAAAWWNN!"

"Oh sorry. Just a little tired.", the doctor blushed as he spoke, "long day and all, you know."

"Oh, well you go on up and get into bed. I'll clean up down here."

John wasn't so sure that the younger man would actually clean up, but more than likely leave it instead, and he didn't want to come down and see the mess in the morning.

"No, you did all the cooking. I can, at least, help clean up."

With that he got up, and helped Sherlock clean up and do dishes. He was rather surprised that the younger man actually stuck around to help. They sipped the last of the wine while John washed the dishes, and Sherlock dried them and put them away.

That done, they moved to the sitting room to watch some mindless telly, Sherlock yelling at it every two seconds, swear about how they had one thing or another wrong with the deductions. The doctor smiled, and ignored the one sided argument, just enjoying the show, enjoying just being with his friend. He frowned, wishing it could be more. He needed to watch the younger man and deduce his feelings, if any, for the himself.

Later their wine glasses empty, and the show over, the doctor took the glasses to the kitchen, setting them beside the sink for washing the next day. He stretched and yawned, feeling tired. God he was glad he didn't have to work tomorrow.

"See, no more sore muscles."

The baritone voice close behind startled the older man, and he jumped, and turned, "Jesus, Sherlock, you have to stop doing that."

The detective merely smiled. The smile brought John's attention to the other man's full lips, and he swallowed thickly as his imagination supplied a much more pleasing picture in the doctor's mind. The detective stepped closer to John, and only when he was right in front of him, so close that he was sure their shirt fronts were brushing, did he look up to the younger man's eyes. They were such an amazing, bright blue that they mesmerized him. When he heard the sharp intake of breath, he realized belatedly that it was him, and blushed profusely. He broke eye contact, and clearing his throat, made a quick excuse and escaped to his room.

John didn't see Sherlock's smirk as he made his hasty retreat. The younger man nodded his head thoughtfully. Yes, as he thought, the doctor was definitely attracted to him. Good. He would continue his plan to romance John and, if all went as he hoped, he wouldn't have to worry about the older man ever needing to find a woman and marry, and leave him. Yes it was going swimmingly. He decided he should rest. The detective smiled, turned, and walked to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

/

A/N: The particular recipe for black forest cake in this chapter is the one that is made with kirschwasser, and I think Sherlock would use only the best of ingredients.


	3. Chapter 3

Previously: John didn't see Sherlock's smirk as he made his hasty retreat. The younger man nodded his head thoughtfully. Yes, as he thought, the doctor was definitely attracted to him. Good. He would continue his plan to romance John and, if all went as he hoped, he wouldn't have to worry about the older man ever needing to find a woman and marry, and leave him. Yes it was going swimmingly. He decided he should rest. The detective smiled, turned, and walked to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

/

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he sat up. He was shaking, breathing fast, and ….. wait was that an erection? He lifted the blanket to see his sleeping pants tenting. He reached out and touched it, and hissed. He was painfully hard. The front of his pants had a wet spot where the beads of pre-come were soaking through. He carefully lifted the waistband and lowered his pants to free his aching erection. He studied it for a moment with a frown. Why wasn't it going down. It was still painfully hard, and he could see it was quite a deep red, the beads of pre-come now sliding down the shaft. He touched it again, prepared for the sensitivity this time. His fingers felt the silky texture of the skin and, curious, he lightly slid his fingers down the shaft. He hissed again, moved his hand away, and continued to study it.

He knew, of course, what it was. He also knew how to take care of it. He'd researched it once for a case, but he'd never actually done it himself. He'd never had an erection before either. Wasn't it all based on some sort of stimuli to get an erection? He thought back, grasping at the feathers of the dream he'd been having before he woke. He had a vague image of John smiling at him, but there was something different about his eyes. They were bluer, and his expression was one of desire, sexual desire to be exact. The wisps started becoming clear again. Yes, now he saw John kneeling between his legs looking up at him with that smile. Then he bent down and his mouth enveloped the younger man's cock. Sherlock gasped and opened his eyes. The pre-come was trickling non stop down his shaft now. OH! It was the dream of John doing those delicious things to him that gave him this erection. Well this was inconvenient. He glared at the erection that was giving no signs of flagging whatsoever. Obviously he would have to take care of it. He gently took it in hand once again hissing at the contact. It was so sensitive. He tried moving his hand lightly up and down, and hissed again. How was he going to do this if it was this sensitive to touch?

He thought for a moment. Maybe if he brought up those images of John from his dream he could try again. He closed his eyes, brought up those delightful images, and let them run. John's mouth was moving up and down his shaft…. Sherlock moved his hand again and gasped as pleasure jolted through his body. Yes. He tightened his hand a little more, and continued stroking his erection while his mind replayed the dream. Pleasure surged through him as he continued. He was breathing fast, clenching his teeth to keep from making any noise, writhing as the pleasure built low in his belly. He felt his muscles tighten and then his whole body was shaking as pleasure seared through him. He could feel the warm splashes of come on his hand and belly. His body jerked with each spasm of pleasure as it slowly faded away. He lay still for a moment then let go of his softening cock. He thought he'd heard his door a moment ago, but when he looked he could see it was still closed. His mind must have conjured that up while he was in the throes of ecstasy.

He reached to the bedside table and grabbed some tissues, cleaning himself off, and threw them in the trash under the table. He pulled his pants up and lay back again and went to his mind palace to catalogue all the sensations and his body's reactions while they were still fresh in his mind.

/

John leaned against his door, letting his head fall back, closing his eyes. He swallowed convulsively. What was he thinking. He should have left well enough alone. He groaned in frustration and slid down to the floor.

He had gone down to the kitchen for some water. Hadn't bothered with lights, knowing his way around the flat in the dark, and that's when he heard odd noises coming from Sherlock's room. He had moved down the hallway to the younger man's door and could hear the noises more clearly. He had been concerned that there was something wrong, and opened the door to ask after the detective. That's when he saw Sherlock sprawled out on his bed, his sleep pants down around his thighs, and wanking. It was obvious he was enjoying it quite a lot.

John stood, mouth open and eyes wide. He had been about to say something when he opened the door, but the words got stuck when he saw the scene before him. He stood watching for a few moments before he came to himself and realized that he couldn't get caught watching his best friend wank. He was sure there would be some vitriolic comments from the detective if he'd seen him. That was also the reason he wasn't going to say anything to the detective later either. He had just shut the door and hurried back to his room. He thought he'd heard the younger man groan his name once as he beat his hasty retreat, but he must have been imagining that.

He sighed, and opening his eyes he looked down at his tented sleeping pants. There was no way around it. He'd have to take care of it himself. He eased his pants down and gently taking hold of himself he moved his hand slowly up and down his aching cock. He felt the familiar zing of pleasure, and closed his eyes bringing up images of women he'd slept with in the past. His hand moved faster. The images morphing into women with dark curly hair, then morphed again to tall and thin with long, elegant hands. Then it was Sherlock in John's lap, his curls bouncing with his enthusiasm.

John came so quick that it took him by surprise, back arching, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, pleasure searing through him. His body jerked with the spasms until they faded away. It took him a few moments to collect himself enough to get up and make his way across his room on shaky legs. When he reached the bedside table he grabbed some tissues and cleaned himself up, throwing them in the trash bin under the table, and pulling up his pants he collapsed on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind blank. Just as his mind started to process what had just happened, his eyelids drooped heavily, and soon sleep overtook him.

/

Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, and he blinked a few times, mind registering quickly that the sun was streaming through his window. He frowned, realizing that he'd fallen asleep while in his mind palace. He never did that. He sat up slowly, and looked at the clock on his bedside table. Ten o'clock. So John would have left for work hours ago. No wait, he remembered the doctor saying he had the day off. He smiled to himself, and getting up, he shed his sleeping pants, and moved to his washroom to shower.

A few minutes later Sherlock stood in his bedroom again, ebony hair curling damply, as looked at his clothes in the closet, then turned and grabbed a sheet from his bed, and pulled it around him. He walked down the hallway to the kitchen and clicked the kettle on for tea. He turned, looking into the sitting room. John was sitting at the desk working on his computer. He watched him tapping away with two fingers. Sherlock turned as the kettle clicked off, and he made tea for both of them. The younger man carried both mugs to the sitting room, depositing one mug beside the doctor who looked up and greeted him, "Morning Sherlock."

"Morning", the detective said as he turned and moved to his chair and sat, sipping his tea and staring at the fireplace. It was a lovely spring day so there was be no need for a fire. John, used to Sherlock's ways, turned and resumed his typing without a word.

The older man was engrossed in his blog and didn't see Sherlock staring at him, deducing him. If he had, he would have cringed. The detective could see all the tell tale signs that the older man had had a wank that morning. Correction, he scanned the doctor again, last night. He frowned, wondering again if he had imagined the sound of his door. John seemed to be acting as usual. He couldn't be sure. Sherlock turned his attention back to the fireplace, lost in thought.

Meanwhile, across the room, John could feel the other man's eyes on him. He forced his mind back to the blog, typing several sentences, reading them, and realizing they were absolute gibberish. He quickly deleted them and started again. A few sentences later he realized he was writing gibberish again. Frustrated, he deleted the words, and continued to type.

Sherlock looked back to the doctor when he heard an exasperated sigh. He was making mistakes and getting irritable. If he continued to make mistakes, he estimated another ten minutes and John would close his laptop and leave the flat. Walking always helped him clear his mind, but if the detective let him go alone his steps would eventually be directed to the doorstep of one of the many adoring females always flirting with his John. He stopped at that thought. His John? Why would he be thinking such a thing. Pushing aside that thought, the detective stood and walked to his bedroom, leaving his empty cup on the table by his chair. He quickly dressed, deciding the best option was to be ready to go with John when he decided he needed to go for a walk to calm down. That way he could divert the doctor from heading for some female's house.

John heard Sherlock walk back to his bedroom. He knew the detective would be getting dressed, but it was unusual for him to dress if he came out in the morning wearing a sheet. That meant he would probably be heading to Bart's to charm Molly into giving him some body parts. He shivered at that thought. He didn't want to open the fridge to a head again. He logged off and closed his laptop. He needed to stay with the younger man to keep him away from Bart's and body parts. It would also give him a chance to do a little of his own deducing of the other man. He'd just make sure he was ready to go when Sherlock emerged from his bedroom.

John hurriedly put on his shoes, and grabbed his wallet and keys. Just then Sherlock came out of his bedroom.

"Ah, John. I see you're done with your blog. Fancy a walk? It's a warm day and it would be a waste to stay inside. We could walk by the river."

John immediately jumped on the idea, not thinking about the fact that Sherlock had suggested it and therefore couldn't have been planning to go to Bart's. The doctor was just glad he wouldn't have to find some way of keeping the younger man entertained and away from Bart's.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I like walking by the river."

John decided to try some deducing of his friend to see what the other man was thinking and feeling. So they walked from Baker Street to the park along the river's edge and once there John tried some light conversation. No need to jump straight into deductive questions that would alert the detective right away.

"How is the experiment with the toes coming?" John started the ball rolling.

"Great. It looks like it will yield the results required for the case with the dead gardener."

"Oh?" John was interested. That was a particularly hard case that they hadn't got to the bottom of yet. "So you think you know who did it then?"

Sherlock couldn't resist showing off. John's adoration for his brain power was always something he enjoyed. "Yes I think it was the maid."

"Really! She seemed such a lovely girl. I can't imagine her having the strength to kill like that."

"Anger, jealousy, love turned to hate ….. these are all powerful motivators, crimes of passion. A person can show surprising strength when it is one of these motivators. That is why they call it a crime of passion."

John listened to Sherlock as he talked on about the case. He watched him closely, and could see that he understood feelings of this nature very well. He wondered what experience had given him that understanding. It was obvious to the doctor that the detective was drawing from personal experience. He wondered who had hurt the younger man so much. He might need to talk to Mycroft. He shuddered at the thought of seeking out Sherlock's brother on purpose.

Sherlock noticed John shiver and assumed he was getting cold. He looked around and discovered they were coming up close to a street. Ah yes there was a little tea shop where he could get the doctor warmed up with tea and biscuits.

"There's a tea shop just across the road. Let's go have some tea and warm up a bit."

John wrongly thought Sherlock was cold but not wanting to admit it, and readily agreed to do just that.

To John's surprise the tea shop actually had a tea service that was more like a meal. He dove into the delicious repast with enthusiasm, noting as he did that Sherlock nibbled some of it as well. This pleased John that the detective actually ate some.

The doctor also kept in mind that he wanted to deduce Sherlock's feelings towards him. John reached for a biscuit at the same time as Sherlock thereby brushing his fingers against the detective's. The younger man jumped and then quickly withdrew his hand, nearly knocking over his teacup in the process. When he reached to steady the cup John could see the other man's hand was shaking. The doctor looked at the younger man's face to check his pupils, but Sherlock was looking down. John couldn't see his pupils. He quickly scanned over the detective to check for other signs. Yes his lower lip was trembling slightly, he was breathing fast, his hands were clenched together in his lap almost but not quite hiding the slight bulge in the trousers. Just then the younger man cleared his throat and John looked up to see Sherlock looking at him. His face was expressionless but the doctor could see now that the pupils were indeed dilated. Then the older man realized that the detective had just caught him looking at his crotch and he blushed furiously, and he suddenly felt the need to give his tea all his attention.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! he should have been more careful. He had given himself away. He only hoped that the detective hadn't realized he was deducing him. It was bad enough as it was. He was caught looking at the other man's crotch and there was no other way to take that but what it was.

He finished his tea silently berating himself for being so obvious. Sherlock was bound to say something, if not now then almost certainly later. He used the time it took to finish his tea to school himself back into his façade of best friend. When he looked up again, he saw that Sherlock also had his façade back in place. They left the tea shop and walked back to Baker Street in silence, both with his own thoughts.

Sherlock was in a quandary. He had caught the doctor looking at the bulge in his trousers. He was angry with himself for letting himself get aroused at all. He was simply enjoying the day with his best (and only) friend. He had to clear his throat and make the doctor stop looking there because it was arousing him more and more as John had stared. It would have become obvious that he was getting harder under the doctor's gaze. Thankfully the older man had looked away and concentrated on his tea giving Sherlock time to will the erection down. He'd have to remember that for the next time he woke with an erection. He might be able to will it away if he thought about that moment.

/

When they arrived at Baker Street John excused himself and went up to his room. He was angry still that he'd been caught staring, but he discovered that Sherlock did seem to be attracted to him. He needed time to think about his next steps.

Sherlock decided to retreat to his bedroom, and ponder the significance of John staring at his tenting trousers. Not only did he need to think about the tenting trousers, but John staring as well. Sherlock had felt himself getting harder and harder as John stared. With the doctor's eyes on him, he had felt shivers of pleasure running through his body. The older man had been noticeably aroused by this as well. He needed to be absolutely sure though. He needed to try something different, something that would make everything obvious.

Meanwhile, upstairs John was pondering the significance of the tented trousers. He snorted to himself, That sounds like a really cheesy name for a case, he thought. The detective had obviously been aroused by just the brush of their hands, hell he had been aroused. He just needed a little more evidence, something obvious.

/


	4. Chapter 4

John was screaming at Murray, telling him to get down. He started running for the other man to get him to the ground before he was hit. Then Murray had jerked, blood spilling out of his chest as he fell. The doctor dove to the ground, and crawled to the injured man, hoping to save him. John reached him, got onto his knees, and turned him over only to stare into dead eyes. He swore under his breath, bowing his head for a moment. Suddenly his shoulder felt like it was being torn apart, and the heat and pain were almost unbearable. He knew he'd been hit too as he pitched forward over the dead man. Somebody was yelling his name, "John … JOHN…. JAWN …"

John's eyes flew open and his gun was in his hand and pointing at the chest of the intruder. The doctor's mind caught up with the fact that he was awake and was, in fact, holding his gun to Sherlock's chest. In the moonlight from the window, the younger man looked shocked, frozen in place, afraid to move. John lowered his gun slowly as he started shaking, trying to hold back sobs, hand laying limply on the blankets still holding the gun.

"John you were having a nightmare", the detective said slowly, "I was trying to wake you up."

He reached out and slowly moved the gun out of John's hand, setting it on the bedside table. The doctor was shaking, sobbing.

"I couldn't save him, I couldn't save him", John choked out.

Sherlock knew it was the nightmare and the shock of holding a gun on his friend. The younger man reached out and gently pulled John into his arms and held him, the doctor's arms coming up and wrapping around him as he buried his head in the detective's shoulder.

"I know you tried your hardest, John."

John gasped in a few breaths, as he tried to calm himself. The detective continued to hold him, they stayed that way until John stopped sobbing.

The doctor slowly became aware of their closeness. He could smell a woody oriental scent and under that a more base male scent that he found intoxicating, and yes, maybe a bit arousing. Sherlock was still warm from bed, and the doctor closed his eyes just enjoying the warmth. Then reluctantly, he pulled back, and the detective dropped his arms, letting the doctor put some distance between them as he sat back against the headboard.

"Thank you", John said, and smiled wanly.

"Of course", the detective replied.

"I assume I was yelling again?"

"Yes. As soon as I heard you I came up right away, and tried to wake you but…." Sherlock waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the gun.

"Yeah sorry about that mate", John said, rubbing his neck, and looking ashamed.

"I'm just glad you woke up before anything happened", Sherlock smiled lamely at the joke.

John nodded his head looking down, swallowing thickly at how close he had come to shooting Sherlock. When he felt himself starting to shake again, he pushed the thought out of his mind. No need to go through that again.

"Are you going to be okay? I can stay for awhile until you fall asleep."

The doctor knew his friend was trying very hard to be understanding, and really appreciated it. It really did sound like a good idea. He might be able to fall asleep again without the nightmares this time. He looked at the way the moonlight played across his friend's pale features, accentuating the cheekbones. He really was a beautiful man.

"Ummm …. Yeah that would be good. If you could stay for awhile, I mean." the soldier felt weak for needing to keep his friend around while he went back to sleep.

Sherlock smiled encouragingly, "Well let's get you tucked back in", he said as he rose to let John lay down and get comfortable. Then, much to the older man's surprise, the detective crawled into bed beside him, and reaching over pulling John into his arms again.

"What are you doing Sherlock?", John asked raising his head to look at the other man.

"Getting comfortable", was the younger man's reply.

"No, I mean this", the doctor said, indicating the detective's arms around him.

"Comforting you and giving you some extra warmth", came the reply.

"I'm fine, Sherlock. I don't need warmth…."

"Nonsense, you're still shaking", the detective cut in.

John was about to launch more protest when the younger man said, "Now shut up and go to sleep."

John wisely closed his mouth, and laid his head on the detective's chest. He was immediately surrounded once again by that warm, wonderful smell that was Sherlock. He sighed, relaxed and fell asleep quickly, dreaming much more pleasant dreams.

The younger man felt the doctor relax, and he smiled to himself, pleased that the older man had accepted his excuse for holding him like this. He relaxed, yawned, realizing how tired he was, and fell asleep too.

/

John's eyes opened slowly, the sunshine filling his room was the first thing he registered. He was so warm and relaxed, he smiled and closed his eyes again. The doctor lay still just waking up slowly, enjoying it. He opened his eyes again a few minutes later. He yawned and stretched, feeling great. He was sure he hadn't had such a good sleep in a long time. He remembered last night, that Sherlock had laid down with him, preparing to sleep with him. He rolled over slowly, cautiously, expecting to see Sherlock laying on the other side of his bed. The other side of the bed was empty, he reached over to touch the sheets. They were cool, so Sherlock had left long before, perhaps after he'd fallen asleep.

John lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Well he might as well get up. He sat up, moving to the edge of the bed, feeling the cool floor under his feet. He got up and walked to his window, looking out over London. It was another warm spring day, right now anyways. He could see clouds building up and heading towards the city. He figured it would be raining by lunch time. He decided he'd better stock up on groceries now before the rain started. With that thought, he went and showered.

Once dressed, John made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. He figured he'd better check what they had for food. He half expected to see the detective hunched over the microscope, but the kitchen was empty. The doctor checked the fridge and cupboards and made a shopping list.

"We need some more milk", came the baritone from behind him.

John jumped, "Jesus Sherlock ….." He turned around and immediately forgot what he was going to say. The detective was standing in the doorway with just a towel around his hips, hair a damp riot of curls. John's eyes travelled slowly over the toned chest and tight abs, slid over slim hips, and down long muscular legs, a runner's legs. He blushed realizing he'd been gaping openly at his friend. There was no other way to take that other than what it was. When his eyes came back up to the younger man's face, he was relieved to see that it was neutral. John cleared his throat, "I'm going out to get some groceries before the rain starts."

"I did manage to deduce that John", came the scathing reply.

Well don't have to worry about any awkwardness this morning, John thought.

"Right", the doctor said, "I'll just go get groceries then."

He grabbed coat, wallet, and keys, and fled the flat.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen the detective without clothes before, he'd seen him when he had worn a sheet to the palace during the Irene Adler affair. He remembered trying hard not to ogle when the sheet had slipped down after Mycroft stepped on it. He shook his head to clear it, and focus on the shopping.

Meanwhile, Sherlock stood smirking as John fled the flat. Yes it was obvious that the doctor was attracted to him. The younger man was watching John's face as his eyes practically devoured him. There was no doubt, now what to do about it. If he just confronted the doctor he'd just bluster and run again. He had to be more circumspect to show the older man what his true feelings were.

/

John was taking his time with the groceries trying to figure out what he could do to "one-up" his maddening flatmate. He wasn't about to parade around in a towel like Sherlock, the detective would just stare at the scar on his shoulder. He wasn't quite ready for that. He continued to peruse the aisles when he suddenly heard his text alert.

Bloody hell, he thought, can't I have some peace even when grocery shopping?

He checked his phone anyway.

**Lestrade just called with a case. - SH**

**Text me the address. Meet you there. - JW**

**Come home first. - SH**

John was a little surprised by that. Sherlock never waited for him when he had a case. Nevertheless he quickly grabbed the remaining items, took them through a manned till (not fighting with the chip and pin machine today), and hurriedly hailed a taxi.

When he arrived at the flat, he half expected Sherlock to be standing on the doorstep already to get going, but he wasn't. John felt there was something not quite right. He paid the taxi**, **collected the bags, and eased carefully through the downstairs door. It was all quiet. He quickly and quietly took the stairs, set the bags down outside the flat door, pulled out his everpresent gun, and eased the flat door open. Sherlock sat in his chair, dressed in his dark blue suit that John always admired on him.

"I heard the taxi pull up, and you weren't exactly being quiet coming up the stairs."

John sighed, pocketed his gun, and grabbed the bags, taking them to the kitchen. He was putting away the groceries when from behind him he heard, "You haven't asked about the case". Sherlock was clearly dying to talk about it.

"No I haven't", John smirked, as he heard the frustrated huff from behind him.

"Well Lestrade needs us to help him catch a killer. Apparently, the killer has been picking up the victims at night clubs. Everything points to the killer showing at another night club tonight. So I need you to dress for a night club."

Hmmmm, thought John, odd that Sherlock didn't say "he" or "she", but instead "the killer". He shook that thought away deciding that he was just being paranoid.

John turned around eying the detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "It's upscale night clubs, obviously. Do you have some appropriate clothes?"

The doctor smirked at the younger man, "Yeah, I think I've got some that will pass."

John had put the last of the spoilable items in the fridge and was just putting away the rest in the cupboards when he heard the scrape of the stool at the kitchen table. He turned to see Sherlock had taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and was getting ready to do some experiments. Well he wouldn't have to worry about keeping the detective entertained for the afternoon.

John made a cup of tea and moved to the sitting room, sat at the desk, and opened his laptop preparing to work on his blog.

/

John finally stopped when he started feeling hungry. It was definitely time for some lunch. The rain had been coming down for awhile and it was starting to get cold in the flat. The doctor got up and got a fire going in the fireplace, then he moved to the kitchen. The younger man was still bent over his microscope, and didn't acknowledge John as he passed. He frowned a little, thinking it odd that the detective had done that. Sherlock had always made a point of greeting him since he'd moved back into the flat. He kind of liked it, had grown used to it.

Still frowning, he moved around the kitchen making a warm lunch. He decided on Welsh Rarebit. It was always good to have on a cool day. With that in mind, he set about making it.

A while later, as John set a plate beside Sherlock he wondered if it was back to the way things were before "the fall". The detective surprised him by moving to a chair and tucking into the tasty lunch. John set a hot cup of coffee beside the younger man, and sat across from him with his own plate and a cup of tea. Sherlock devoured his lunch like a starving man, and the doctor cleared away the emptied plate and served a Chelsea bun to the detective which he promptly devoured as well. John didn't say anything, instead was just happy to see the younger man with such a healthy appetite. After he gave Sherlock a fresh cup of coffee, the detective moved back to his stool to continue his experiment. John took a bun and a cup of tea to the sitting room, stoked up the fire, and sat with a novel he had been wanting to finish. He quickly became absorbed in the book, and lost track of time.

"We better get ready if we're going to meet Lestrade at the nightclub."

John blinked a few times, and lowered his book. He still had a few chapters to go so he wasn't worried about finishing it. He hadn't noticed the fire had gone out. Glancing at the window, he realized he hadn't noticed that it stopped raining either. That probably wouldn't last long, so he decided to take an umbrella too.

He got up, "Alright I'll just go and change then."

He quickly ran up to his room, closed the door and undressed quickly. Then stepped to his closet and opened it. He smiled as he pulled out the clothes he would be wearing.

This should make Sherlock lose his focus, he thought. And he might actually make the first move.

He stopped momentarily at that thought. When had this become about who was going to make the first move. Somewhere along the way it had. He figured Sherlock was trying not to be the first. He smirked again as he dressed. These clothes would make the younger man make that first move, he was sure of it.

When John descended the stairs, the detective stopped his pacing and stared, wide eyed at the doctor. John noticed that younger man had his trusty Belstaff on and done up already.

The older man had on a nice snug fitting pair of black jeans that he knew outlined his muscular thighs, and hugged his arse perfectly. With them he also had on a black silk button front shirt which he had open lower than he normally would, but it showed off his dog tags. The black leather oxfords rounded out his ensemble. He may not have been as young and fit as he once was, but he knew he still looked amazing.

"I trust this will work just fine", the doctor said, smiling at Sherlock's wide eyed gaze.

The younger man swallowed, and nodded wordlessly. John smirked, heading to the rack for his coat, knowing that the detective would be looking at his arse.

He turned, just catching the younger man's gaze flick away from his behind. "Well, we should get going shouldn't we? Lestrade will be getting anxious."

Sherlock blinked once, twice, and then said, "Yes let's get going shall we?"

/


End file.
